


Folie à Deux

by orphan_account, sakasamasa



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Post-Canon, Post-Episode Ignis Verse 2, Psychosis, ardyn is a hallucination, or as i like to call him... Hallucinardyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-12-20 21:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21063305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakasamasa/pseuds/sakasamasa
Summary: As the world heals, Noctis crumbles. Hallucinations of Ardyn haunt him as he tries to be the composed king everyone expects of him.





	1. Version 1 - sakasamasa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vers 1 - sakasamasa

“Huh?”

“Huh, what?”

Prompto turns. Noctis raises a brow at him, waiting for something.

“What’d you say just now?”

It’s Prompto’s turn to look confused.

“I… didn’t say anything.”

“Oh. Sorry. Must’ve been someone else.”

Noctis laughs lightly, and Prompto inadvertently mirrors the expression. The other might’ve mistaken some stranger’s voice for his; they were walking down a pretty busy street, after all. Not-quite new arrivals from outside the Walls, looking to make a place for themselves away from the crowded vestiges like Lestallum or the Forts. Not that there’s much to go around but ruined buildings and the constant stream of supply trucks from outside as of now, but things are changing. Faster, too. With every day that passes, new challenges arise. New mouths to feed, new connections to establish and new matters to try and delegate and then delegate even more. Right now, Noctis and him are making their way over to the inner gates to welcome one of the overseers of Fort Vaullerey so they can finally get that committee going. A provisional government of sorts. Maybe it’ll be easier to manage the rebuilding of an entire city with a few more heads and hands helping along in the process. They could definitely use the assistance, Noctis the most. Prompto’s noticed how he was all too eager to try and shoulder all the responsibilities from day one. Of course, him, Gladio and Iggy are the ones with the outside connections from the past ten years, but Noctis has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want to miss a single word exchanged between them and their contacts. And he hasn’t yet, despite how many times all three of them have pestered their charge to take a damn break.

It’s a change from the old, younger Noctis that liked to loaf around in his apartment and shirk his royal duties to go to the arcade with him. It’s a bit more like the Noctis who’d lost his home and the last of his family, but wouldn’t run and hide even with a nationwide target on his back. The Noctis that took the fate of the world on his shoulders and single handedly brought back the light, knowing all too well it could’ve cost him his life to do so.

The Noctis that, to their collective relief, opened his tired eyes to the sun and lived to see the dawn break over the broken streets of Insomnia.

“Eos to Prompto, you still in there? _ I’m _ supposed to be the one spacing out, remember?”

Prompto blinks and finds he’s gone a little misty-eyed during his musings. He looks at Noctis and finds that, even after ten long years, his best friend’s still there. He’s just a little more… hairy.

“What’s that smile about?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all.”

“No, seriously, is it something on my face?”

“No- I mean, yeah, but…”

The bickering that ensues follows them all the way to the inner gates, resulting in a flustered Noctis haphazardly trying to shift into formal speaking mode after the overseers of Fort Vaullerey were made witness to the last of the Lucian Kings and saviour of the world calling his right-hand man a bitch and pointedly jabbing him in the stomach with his elbow. Aside from that little --and to Prompto, hilarious-- mishap, the meeting with the overseers goes smoothly and the visiting parties are informed on the current state of Insomnia and what still needs doing. They seem eager to help out, which makes both Prompto and Noctis feel like the actual makeshift assembly tomorrow will play out somewhat well.

Prompto manages to convince Noctis that he’ll handle the accommodations and any questions from the visitors that need answering, leaving Noctis to retire for a bit without having to miss anything important. Noctis is ever reluctant to take a breather, but at Prompto’s _ and _ one of the older overseer’s vehement insistence, he eventually caves and complies. He excuses himself sheepishly, secretly feeling a little relieved to be able to step out for a bit. Prompto says he’ll catch up with him the next morning.

Noctis breathes in the chilled evening air, once again wading through the slowly diminishing crowds around the Citadel. Iggy and Gladio would have his head for walking around alone, but the Citadel’s only a few minutes away anyway. With how busy both of them are, it’s not like they can chide him for it, either.

Plus, it’s just nice to be alone for a bit. He doesn’t have to keep an eye on whoever he’s with, which leaves him to just wander and take in the cityscape he’s grown used to over the past few weeks. Familiar buildings, familiar streets, fallen into desolate ruin here and there. The Citadel, unscratched and monolithic, still looming over it all. But the best thing is the people. The sounds of voices and clatter. The faces young and old. People that lived through war and ten years of darkness. Some people greet him, some don’t even spare him a glance. All different, but all so similar.

A shade of black cuts through. Even in the dying evening sun he notices it. Less fixed, but more of a passing shimmer in the crowd that rips him from the peaceful quietude in his mind. It’s gone the next second.

That’s… Odd.

Noctis quietly scoffs at himself. Prompto was right; he definitely needs a break. An evening to himself is starting to sound a lot more appealing.

* * *

“Yeesh, it’s dusty in here. Better watch your step; this place is a mess.”

Prompto isn’t wrong; the once vast entryway of the run-down mall is now cluttered with paraphernalia of all shapes and sizes, so much so that it looks rather cluttered. Noctis thinks he hears Gladio stumble and cuss from behind as something clatters. His suspicions are confirmed when Ignis pipes up to ask Gladio if he’s okay and Prompto just snickers.

“Careful there, big guy. What’s with all the junk lying around, anyway? Could daemons have been hoarders? Like... hoarder-daemons?”

“Maybe people used it as a hideout?” Noctis suggests, but he sees Prompto shake his head.

“Unlikely,” Ignis explains. “The high level of daemonic activity in Insomnia made it nigh impossible for humans to settle here. Perhaps your conjecture of daemons with hoarder-like tendencies is not so far off, Prompto. ”

“Well, whoever put all of this here,” Noctis says, “we need to get this place cleaned up for the people from the Garrison. Their overseer said we’re looking at about two-hundred volunteers.”

“Sounds like a lot,” Prompto sighs, “can’t believe Insomnia’s gonna be numbering in the thousands again at some point. And that we’ll be overseeing all of _ that _.”

Gladio huffs, shoving aside a rusty-looking shopping cart blocking the entryway.

“Yeah, well, _ we _ won’t have to do small-fry work like this anymore when we get to that point.”

“The overseer’s taking care of extra provisions; it’s only fair that we pitch in as well. What do you think, Noct?”

“Well, it isn’t falling apart. There’s enough room, and it’s a lot closer to the main roads than the Citadel. Not sure about all this glass everywhere, though.”

Noctis looks up. The framework of the previously ornate glass ceiling still remains, but the sea of shards on the ground tells him this building wasn’t entirely exempt from the devastation of the invasion ten years ago. In the outer rings of the city he’s already seen what damage Diamond Weapon caused, and those areas are now pretty much uninhabitable. Massive piles of concrete rubble that’ll take more than just two hands to even begin putting out of the way. He’s just glad the Citadel and the surrounding areas were left relatively unharmed, and that the old mall hasn’t collapsed in on itself after so long. Sure, it’s a bit breezy and the place is pretty much a health hazard to be in right now, but he supposes it’s the most convenient spot to temporarily house some two-hundred people.

Behind him, he hears Gladio huff in resignation.

“Let’s just clear up as much as we can before the day’s done.”

“Alright,” he says, mingling with everyone voicing their not-all-too-eager agreement. Turning to look at the others, he opens his mouth to speak only to freeze up completely. 

That... that was a person, wasn’t it?

Even as it’s disappeared from his sight in an instant, Noctis can still very clearly picture the strange shadow standing right next to Prompto. What the hell was that? He blinks once, twice, but the dark mass doesn’t make a reappearance.

“Hm? Something up?” Prompto looks at him.

“Uh... Oh, yeah, you think you could get some of your guys to come help us out here? I’ll go inform the overseer we found a place so she can let the convoy know where to go.”

“I was actually just about to do that,” Prompto says, “and alright. But don’t try and dip!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

For the wide grin on his face, Noctis feels awfully unsettled. Even when Prompto’s moved on he finds himself eyeing the spot where he saw the shadow, but nothing remains. Whatever. He shakes it off and leaves the building to go find the overseer. Soon enough it stops bothering him, and any thoughts of odd shadows are left by the wayside.

* * *

“Hey, Noct, we’re gonna go grab a bite to eat. You good to get out of here soon? We could always bring you something too.”

Noctis stops writing, looking up at Prompto’s who’s risen from his seat with Gladio close behind. They both look a bit worn out, but after a long day of endless meetings and discussions that can only be expected. There’s something about meetings that just makes them seem like the most boring, seemingly pointless things in the world, even when they’re literally about everyone’s livelihood and survival. He guesses he’s looking just as haggard, but he might be feeling less hungry than them. He finds he’s got no appetite at all.

“Nah, I’ll... I’ll catch up with you guys in a few minutes. Just need to finish writing a few things down for tomorrow.”

“Alright. See ya soon, buddy.”

Footfalls echo before the clang of two heavy doors announces the silence that slowly fills the air. Noctis looks down at his notes. If Ignis sees them, he’ll be in for a scolding on the importance of keeping your work orderly and neat. The piece of paper is a mess of points that have been added onto, crossed out or abbreviated to the point he can’t quite make out what he wrote in the first place. A laptop would’ve been really useful, but he supposes those luxuries will have to wait.

The pen scratches. His heart skips a beat as he hears a whisper. For a moment he thinks it’s just the rustle of papers in his hand, but as he stops to listen he can hear it still. Muted, sourceless, but present either way. He looks around somewhat feverishly, unable to stop the spiking anxiety guiding his eyes. The walls, the ceiling, under the conference table, even in the hall outside that he eventually exits into, papers in hand. The whisper remains, unintelligible. His heart’s rushing a little, so to calm himself he takes a few breaths and pins it on the lack of sleep. On stress. On some sudden case of tinnitus. Anything that wouldn’t point to anything being seriously wrong; he can’t afford to falter right now.

Perhaps because of that determination, the voice ceases somewhere down the vast halls of the Citadel, drowned out by the comforting din of people nearby and not heard again for the rest of the night.

* * *

The day that follows is a blurred mess of events from early start to late finish. His mind’s still spinning as he retires to bed that night, some restless exhaustion stripping him of the strength in his limbs even as he thinks he should at least take off his jacket and shoes. He reflects on the day. The volunteers from the Garrison, more meetings, mapping out supply routes and facilities to come. The distance between where they are now and what they’re aiming for is still huge, and as far as he knows, there isn’t a step-by-step manual on how to restore a kingdom after it’s been reduced to an empty skeleton, so it’s not like he actually knows if he’s doing the right thing. The overseers know so much about keeping their own communities supplied and functional, he almost feels like they’d better suit his position than he does. He’s learning, sure, but as of now he feels more like a figurehead than a leader.

He pushes the doubt and deprecation from his mind. Surely things will get easier once their plans are set in motion.

Eventually he does kick off his shoes and peel off his jacket. With a tired yawn, he rolls over to turn off the makeshift bedside lamp.

Another shadow, idling in the corner of his own room. He blinks. Once, twice, the shadow doesn’t shift. It’s surprisingly big, and definitely shaped like a person. A daemon? All the daemons should’ve been wiped out with the dawn, so it couldn’t be.

Noctis draws his dagger from the Armiger, adrenaline spurring him to his feet. The shadow doesn’t seem threatened.

“What are you?”

Nothing. It might not understand what he’s saying, but there isn’t much else he can do.

“You better start talking soon.”

Nothing again, but enough for him to rush forward and lash out at the spectre with one calculated strike. Right before his eyes it flits out of existence, as though someone’s flicked off the lights. He’s left standing with a dagger in his hand, his feet apart and his body tense after having slashed at thin air. Nothing, he inspects the carpet where the shadow was. The other corners of his room. Nothing.

“What the fuck.”

It echoes like a mantra in his head as he sits back down on the bed and stares at the walls. It takes him about ten minutes to ascertain that _ whatever the fuck that was _ isn’t going to come back anytime soon, but even then he chooses to keep his dagger under his pillow as closes his eyes and desperately tries to ignore the possibility that he might be going crazy.

* * *

He yawns for a third time, barely remembering to cover his mouth as he does. Not like anyone around him actually has the time to judge him. He’s at the rundown mall again, and this time it’s looking considerably less desolate. Multiple trucks are parked just outside, some still in the process of being unloaded.

The sun’s high up, signaling it’s just past noon. The day’s far from over, but Noctis finds he’d much rather be taking a nap instead of waiting for Gladio to meet him.

He didn’t actually sleep that well last night. The shadow never came back afterwards, but the feeling of _ something wrong _ just dragged on and on.

It still hasn’t left, not since he woke up to the light of day with sleep stubbornly clinging to his shoulders and a heavy mind. He closes his eyes for a bit. No weird shadows here, at least.

Nothing but a voice in his ears.

His eyes fly open and dart around, trying to find the source of the noise. Before, the voices were indecipherable like distant whispers, but this one is unique. Familiar in a way that makes his blood run cold.

“Your _ Majesty _.”

Dripping with deceptively smooth venom, a voice cuts through the doubt and suspicion clear as a bell. The sound isn’t coming from anywhere but his own head. He isn’t sure what he should be looking at, instinctively still looking for _ him _ among the bustling crowd of people around him. Those eerie amber eyes are nowhere to be seen. What the fuck was _ he _ doing here? He should be dead, he and any trace of him should’ve been purged with the Scourge.

“What? No warm welcome for an old friend?”

He doesn’t dare respond, instead keeping a guarded eye on the crowd. Gladio could be here any minute now. Hopefully it won’t be much longer still.

“I don’t take kindly to being ignored, my dear.”

He almost gasps in surprise at that. Sure, random auditory hallucinations are one thing, but them responding to his behavior is a new and, frankly, terrifying development. He holds his ground. He won’t give in to a fucking specter. Especially not this one.

“Noct.”

The voice comes from his left this time, a low hum in his ear from behind, gentle hands on his shoulders and hot breath at his neck sending icy sparks down his spine. Lips brushing close against his ear. His whole body’s tense and he can’t seem to move. No, no, what the fuck is going on-

“Noct!”

A rougher hand claps down on his shoulder and Noctis yells in surprise. He whips around and sees Gladio looking just as startled, if not slightly apologetic.

“Oh, damn, didn’t mean to scare you.”

It takes a few seconds for Noctis to collect himself, deep breaths giving him air he didn’t know he’d been missing in the past minute. He’s trembling, too, but just not enough for the other to notice, he hopes. A few people around them have turned to the commotion he’s made.

“I- It’s okay. So- so what’s new?”

“Wow,” Gladio says instead, “you’re all shaken up, man. Shit, I really shouldn’t have-“

“It’s fine!” Noctis musters up a broken little smile as he tries to steady his voice, “Just didn’t see it coming.”

“Come on. We better go sit down somewhere. Got a lot to talk about too. You sure you’re okay?”

“Provided you don’t scare the shit out of me again, yeah.”

Gladio lightens up at that, any trace of worry wiped away with a toothy grin. Noctis himself smiles back. He lets nothing slip, not the tremble in his shoulders or the words that grate against the walls of his head like nails on chalkboard. Neither of them need that kind of trouble right now. No. _ He’s _ dead and gone. Noctis thinks his mind just needs to catch up on that.

* * *

It’s a very odd thing to come back into hazy awareness on the marble floor of the throne room. It’s dark, the vague outlines of the intricate tiles beneath him just barely giving away where he is. He can’t move; forced down on his hands and knees by some unseen pressure, unable to even lift his head. Like being forced to bow in subservience. The feeling of _ something else here _ he’s grown painfully used to returns, his chest tightening almost as if on cue. His breathing becomes laboured, but soon he realises it’s not only due to the unease washing over his being like a tidal wave. There’s something wrapped around his throat, growing tighter with each passing second. He still can’t move, even as panic starts to urge his unresponsive limbs to fight and to flee from whatever’s cutting off his air. It’s getting harder to focus, and all he really wants to do is scream.

He jolts awake, breathing hitched with his heart pounding in his ears. The feeling of hands around his neck lingers, but there’s no one when he seeks out his assailant in the unlit confines of his bedroom. There’s no shadow in the corner, no voice in his ears. Cold sweat seeps into his nightshirt, hot tears heating up his sockets. Can’t he just rest?

“Please…” He asks the air, “Leave me alone.”

His heartbeat quietens, his breathing evens out, the clash of hot and cold ebbs away, leaving only an odd sort of warmth. The covers are bunched into his fists, thin enough to feel the press of his sharp nails in his palm. Still, he hears nothing to confirm he’s being heard.

“…Ardyn?” he tries. It sounds ridiculous. It’s so ridiculous.

But he’d know that presence, no matter how faint and illogical. It’s here, in this room with him. In the walls like eyes, watching him like a predator. There’s no one else who ever made him feel like this, so uneasy and threatened, so quick to lash out. It has to be.

But why _ him _? Then again, who else could torment him like this? Who else would so enjoy taking him apart from the inside, piece by piece? He considers he might be exaggerating.

“Okay. Calm down. Calm down.” Just a dream. It was just a dream.

He takes a few deep, timed breaths. It doesn’t really help, but he can at least feel a little less rattled if he thinks he’s in control. At some point he lies back down, wishing he had his phone so he could aimlessly scroll through whatever to keep him somewhat occupied. The wishing gets old after five minutes, so he gets up, dons whatever clothes will keep him the most warm through the night and leaves his suite. Sure, the Citadel’s vast halls are dark in a deep sea abyss sort of way and generally eerie as fuck, but at least it’s quiet here and he can keep moving. The only sounds are his footsteps, the only sights are the vague outlines of his surroundings lit up by the occasional moonlight from outside. It’s damn cold, too, but there’s nothing compelling about the idea of trying to go back to sleep now. He wanders on for what feels like hours, and while he thinks he’s already seen a good chunk of the lower parts now, he vehemently ignores the path to the throne room. It’s near one of the large auditoriums that he decides to turn back and return to his room. There’s a glow on the horizon the next time he looks out one of the windows, and he groans to himself. It seems like he won’t get any worthwhile sleep tonight, either.

* * *

The next morning comes to him in what feels like the hazy blink of an eye. He’s tired as he wakes up and gets ready for the day ahead, movements mechanical and instinctual as his mind seems locked in stasis. There’s a shadow in the bathroom mirror. There’s a shadow in the alley he walks past. He wonders if it was always this bad, and that he just hasn’t noticed until now. 

“You never saw me die, did you?”

“What?” Noctis whips around, but besides Prompto there’s no one else standing next to him in the main hall of the Citadel. Prompto looks at little confused, but continues as though Noctis didn’t just go full owl-eyes at him.

“I... asked you if you already looked at the plan for the agriculture stuff for outside the city. We do kind of need your approval before we can get started on it, you know.”

Shit. It’s not that he forgot, but it’s that he literally doesn’t know what the other’s talking about now.

“Oh… uh… did you hand me a document about that or…”

“Yeah, Noct. Like, three days ago. Right after the last assembly with the people from Lestallum…?”

Noctis feels himself sigh mentally before he actually does it. He buries his face into his hands, shoulders drooping along miserably. How could he have forgotten that?

“Fuck,” he groans, “Sorry. I completely forgot to look it over. Shit.”

“My! How delightfully irresponsible of you, little king!”

Noctis almost jumps again, but since it’s definitely not Prompto saying that, he ignores it, which is a little hard to do when Prompto’s words overlap with the voice. He tries focusing on reality.

“Hey, it’s okay, bud. We’ve got enough supplies to last us a month or so with the amount of people we’ve got right now, and we can always ask the other settlements for more if we have to. And besides, it’s just formality. If you want, one of us can make sure the whole thing doesn’t go sideways.”

“No, no, it’s my responsibility. Sorry, I should’ve…”

A jeering laugh interrupts him.

“Pitiful.”

He scowls at the voice in his head. A concerned frown appears on his best friend’s face.

“You okay?”

For a split second, Noctis feels like he’s close to bursting. He feels awful, trying to stop the onslaught of distress rushing up his throat. Was it always this heavy? I can feel him, Prompto. The constricting feeling around his throat is back. He’s dead, but I hear him. It’s stupid, isn’t it? But it feels so real. What’s wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with me?

“I’m sorry.”

Noctis decides against the thoughts in his head and takes a deep breath, whatever’s gripping his neck easing up in turn. Prompto only looks more concerned.

“For what?”

“I- I’m… It’s just…”

Prompto stops him, putting a gentle hand on his arm with a knowing smile on his face. Noctis feels his chest ache.

“Hey, buddy, it’s okay. Whatever it is, we --Iggy, Gladio and I-- we’re here for you. So what’s wrong?”

He wonders what he did to deserve any of them, and he curses himself for what he’s about to do.

“I... feel like I’m not doing things right, y’know? There’s just so much that needs to be done and I- I don’t feel like I can ever actually stop to think about what’s actually happening.”

It’s the truth, to some extent. Prompto just keeps patiently listening to him, none the wiser.

“I’m used to being out there,” Noctis says, like reciting lines of a script, “in the thick of it. I had the Gods telling me what to do, how to do it _ right _. It’s so different now. It’s… a lot. I don’t know how you guys manage it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Prompto starts frowning, a look of regret in his eyes.

“Noct… Fuck, if anyone should be apologising, it’s us. We’re expecting you to do all of this and that, and it’s barely been a month since the dawn-”

“But the same can be said for you guys,” Noctis tries, a sliver of honesty slipping through. He doesn’t want Prompto and the others to feel responsible, much less guilty, for putting them on this path. Hell, a few weeks ago Noctis himself was more than eager to see Insomnia rebuilt by their efforts, if only he didn’t have that fucking ghost in his head, tormenting him.

“Dude, you defeated Ardyn.”

The name sends a stab of anxiety through his system, but he pushes it back down. Prompto looks pained, a little more meek as he continues.

“Besides, even after you got out of the Crystal, you barely rested. I mean, it’s not like you could, but we’ve had ten years, you know? We saw all of it change, but you just woke up to it one day. I can’t imagine what that was like for you.”

Jarring, to say the least. Noctis smiles despite himself, like those first few days of dawn feeling entirely disconnected from his surroundings, himself- reality as a whole, weren’t noteworthy in the slightest.

“But you kept going,” Prompto said then, warm and fiery determination in the way he presented himself. So different from back then. “You just took it all in stride and kept going. You even fooled us- made us think you had it all under control. But it’s okay, Noct.”

Well. Fuck. Noctis feels a little like crying at that. Prompto notices it --of course he does-- and pulls the other in for a hug.

“It’s okay to admit that you don’t, and I’m sorry we couldn’t see that ‘till now.”

Noctis just holds on to his dearest friend and savours the real warmth he feels welling up in his chest. Prompto’s taller now, too, he realises. An apology dances on his tongue, but he knows the other won’t stand for it. His eyes are still glazed as he pulls away, and he can’t rightly describe the feeling of pride that threatens to make him cry even more as he looks at Prompto then.

“...Thanks, Prom. I’ll do my best to-“

“Nuh-uh,” Prompto chides, “none of that! Tell you what: I’m excusing you from whatever you have to do today still, including the next assembly, and you’re gonna spend the rest of today getting some damn rest. When’s the last time you ate?”

Blinking, Noctis stutters a bit.

“I’ll make sure to bring something then,” Prompto says. “I’ll be handling everything in your place for now. Don’t worry; we’ll all make sure you’re up to speed by the time you’re feeling less stressed out, and don’t you dare try to trick me into thinking you’ve got it when you don’t. It won’t work a second time.”

For a moment, Noctis is pretty much at a loss for words. He kind of wants to hug Prompto again, but he doesn’t for the sake of not turning into a blubbering mess. Instead he gives the other the most sincere smile he can muster.

“Alright,” he concedes. “Thanks for this. Really. Will you be okay with taking over for a bit?”

“You can trust me, Noct. Can I trust you to take a breather?”

“Yeah. I’ll get some rest, I promise.”

“Good. See you soon, bro.”

Noctis nods, watching Prompto head to the assembly they were both supposed to attend. A change of plans, then. The voice in his head is quiet, and in a lapse he almost forgets that he didn’t actually address what was really going on with him. That he didn’t just spout a bunch of half-truths to… what? Protect himself? As he’s reminded, a feeling of guilt and shame surfaces, bearing down on him like a shroud.

* * *

He makes his way over to his quarters, silence trailing his steps as he does. Every bit of warmth he felt in Prompto’s presence has left him. It’s really no surprise when the voice returns, and while he’s tempted to cover his ears or walk right back out, he does neither.

“What a touching display that was. No one would suspect it was all a ruse to keep your precious friends from finding out about me.”

He feels a little like falling, powerlessness threatening to make it so before he leans his weight against the wall.

“But why, I wonder? Do you so dearly want me all to yourself? I must say I’m flattered.”

Next time. He’ll tell Prompto next time. Why did he let something so asinine as shame stop him from speaking the truth? Maybe Prompto won’t even hesitate to believe him; he hopes the other trusts him that much, at least. Hell, maybe Prompto’s gone through the same thing. He can’t be the only one hurt, left scarred in some way because of _ him _.

“Come now, you went through all that effort to get us some privacy, but now you’re at a loss for words.”

Noctis grits his teeth; he won’t give in to childish taunting. He thinks he hears something like an exasperated sigh.

“It’s fruitless to keep denying me.”

“Why?” He demands then, nails deepening into the skin of his palms. There’s nowhere to look, so he keeps his eyes trained on the worn carpet.

“You shouldn’t have lived. Your survival thanks to your trusted advisor was an anomaly. A seemingly impossible mishap in the ineffable plan of the Gods.”

His words are caked with poison. The same cadence, the same tonality. Unmistakably, unbearably like him.

“By all accounts, you shouldn’t be here, and neither should I. But here we are. A curious twist of fate, is it not?”

Laughter sends shivers down his spine. This time composed of not one, but many voices overlapping and dissonant. It’s loud. His hands are over his ears but he still hears the cacophony.

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

Over the screeching noise he hears it. From behind his closed eyelids he feels a presence looming over him, caging him in.

“My sweet, darling Noctis. What I want is what I already have.”

The wall behind him thrums. Another bout of knocking forces Noctis’ eyes open. The light floods his vision. Then, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just his room, agonizingly ordinary. No shadows, no voices, no laughter, no Ardyn. He’s in a daze as he turns to the knocking just as an anticlimactic click of the handle reveals Prompto holding a tray.

“Oh, thought you were asleep or something. You didn’t hear me?”

“N- no, I- I actually dozed off, yeah- sorry. I was just about to…”

“-With your shoes on?”

Noctis can do little but laugh nervously as Prompto lets himself in.

“Y-Yeah. Guess I just didn’t notice it.”

“Hah, you’re really just _ that useless _ without us, huh?”

Noctis freezes, hurt contorting his features. Even for a joke, that’s a little too far. He doesn’t mean it, right? The _ old _ Prompto wouldn’t just… say things like that, right?

“Uh…”

“Hey, it’s okay. You needed this; I’m just happy you’re going along with it. Here, Iggy went out of his way to make a little something for you.”

Prompto puts the tray on the old nightstand next to the bed, steam curling up from the rim of a bowl. There’s a plate of sliced bread next to it, both pieces topped with what looks like jam. The soup smells amazing, despite the concerning amount of vegetables that seem to be in it. For a moment, Noctis can put aside the hurtful comment and sits himself down on the bed.

“Iggy made this for me?”

“Yeah,” Prompto grins proudly, “He’s still got it.”

He then gestures at the food.

“It’s all fresh too, but it traveled a long way to get here. Y’know, a lot of food had to be grown under plant lights ‘cause of the lack of natural sunlight. Lestallum kind of became our main hub for that, because there we had the meteor shards to keep the place up and running. This is probably stuff that was grown that way, but I suppose it’ll be the last of its kind from now on.”

Noctis feels himself smiling, sheepishly nodding along. He still feels a bit weird about what just happened, but Prompto looks so happy now; he doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

“Anyway,” Prompto clears his throat, “I should probably just let you have some time alone without me talking your ears off. Iggy’s gonna visit later, Gladio might tag along if he’s got time. Just… try to eat and sleep a bit, okay?”

“Yeah… I will. Thanks, Prom.”

Prompto gives him a thumbs up, a lopsided smile painting his face in a different, more familiar light. Less tired. He says his goodbyes and before Noctis can lament his friend’s upcoming absence the door clicks shut. He lets his gaze drift to the bowl of soup, just the sight of it enough to put him in a comfortably drowsy sort of mood. Then it hits him, and the room turns icy.

“That was your doing, wasn’t it?”

Prompto would never call him useless. They’ve had spats before, and no matter how heated it got, Prompto would never just throw things like that around. So it had to be _ him _.

Noctis doesn’t even want to say the name out loud, for fear of summoning the specter even though he’s directly addressing it. He doesn’t quite know what he wants out of this, but he’s angry. He’s afraid and he’s angry. Ardyn used his best friend to mess with his head again.

“Let’s not get too eager to point fingers. Perhaps I had no hand in the matter at all. Perhaps Prompto only thought to speak his mind; to say what he truly thinks about his majesty.”

“**That’s not true!**” Noctis roars. He’s seething, shoulders tense and eyes wide.

The room doesn’t answer, keeping him in suspense for a long time. Steam still wafts lazily upwards from the bowl left untouched. He finally gives up chasing the shadow he thinks to see and sulkily turns to the bowl with shaky hands. 

Better to eat it before it gets cold. He doesn’t want Iggy’s hard work to go to waste, either.

He ends up getting halfway through a slice of bread before he pretty much succumbs to his exhaustion, feeling eager tendrils of sleep and a sated stomach providing a comfort he hasn’t felt in weeks.

* * *

A cell without bars. Stale air that feels like mud in his lungs. Darkness, everlasting and woefully silent. Noctis doesn’t recognize the scenery, but he knows it’s a prison. He knows he’s the prisoner. The chains keeping him still say as much, but little else. There’s no indication of where he is and how long he’s been here. He can only tell by the way his body droops and hangs limply like a wilted flower, by the way he can barely open his eyes, that it’s been far too long. Locked up to be forgotten. Left to die but never dying. He’s forgotten how to want for food or water; even the feeling of starving had its deadly edge dulled over time. Time. Meaningless, cruel time. When will it end? When will this utterly senseless life spent _ waiting _ finally end?

He wants to die, it’s so dull. How long has it been? There are voices in his head now, the same voices he has heard and will hear for the rest of his miserable existence. Meaningless, dull voices, asking _ when will it end _ again and again. Whispers like the rustling of leaves in the breeze. He moves his limbs with meagre strength sometimes, the hooks embedded in him tearing at recently healed skin. It burns and it slices, but he’ll do anything to feel. Anything but this emptiness. This _ nothingness _ . Even as he waits years, decades, ages- nothing. Even as he cries out in agony. Even as he goes mad and breaks, only to heal and break again. And again. And again. Nothing. **Nothing**.

“Suffer as I have suffered.”

He can’t help but think his anger is misdirected.

* * *

The first thing he sees is the handle of the door turning. Noctis feels his stuffed mind calm at the sight of his friend coming into the room. It’s dark now, the light of the evening sun casting shadows against the walls.

“Iggy,” he breathes out with audible relief as he sits up. It occurs to him it’s probably only been a few hours since he last saw someone, but somehow it feels like it’s been years. Unease lingers in his chest, but it’s easier to ignore now that Ignis is here.

“Noct,” the other nods, a sharp gaze flitting to the tray on his nightstand, “I’m glad to see you’ve eaten and rested.”

Noctis grins bashfully, brows furrowing as he rubs at his eyes. He’s still wearing his shoes.

“Sorry I didn’t finish it,” he says through a yawn.

“It’s alright. How are you feeling?”

“Better, I guess. How long was I out?”

“Only a few hours. The assembly went quite well, and we’ve established plans to set up correspondence with Tenebrae and Galahd, with the relatives of the Nox Fleurets eager to make your acquaintance in the near future, or so I’ve heard. We’re also receiving aid from multiple surrounding settlements, which will prove quite beneficial for the overall relief efforts around Insomnia.”

“That’s…” Noctis tries to keep track of everything he’s heard just now, “That’s great. Good to hear.”

“There are several other things that have been discussed, but you’ll be informed of them once you’ve regained your strength. Prompto was quite adamant about giving you all the time you need, and I can’t say I don’t agree.”

Ignis’ face falls a little, striking emerald downcast.

“Noct, I am truly sorry for failing to notice your fatigue. As your advisor, I should’ve been more observant-”

“Stop,” Noctis interjects, placing a hand on the other’s arm, “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault, and you definitely shouldn’t blame yourself for this. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

The omnipresent pit of unease grows as a thought occurs to him. Noctis is quick to speak again. The shadows behind Ignis are treacherous in the dimming light of day.

“Could you, um, stay for a while longer?”

He internally utters a thankful prayer as Ignis complies without hesitation, but he can only hope the spectre won’t interfere this time.

“I could get you some food as well, if you like.”

“Nah, I’m not hungry, but I’d like it if we could just talk.”

Ignis smiles warmly.

“Of course.”

* * *

The evening goes by all too quickly. In the end they didn’t touch on the subject of the relief efforts once, nor did Noctis open up about his problem. Ignis bids him a goodnight and takes his leave. This time, it’s less painful, and Noctis thinks he’s just resigned himself to taking his ghostly secret to the grave. Whatever. The spectre hadn’t bothered him in a few hours, anyway. Maybe if he keeps ignoring it’s existence like this, it’ll just leave naturally.

Of course, not even the Astral’s machinations ever go as planned, or so it seems.

“I- I can’t take this anymore,” he gasps, “Get out of my head. Get out.”

He’s cradling his head, he’s blocking his ears. The wetness on the pillow reminds him he’s crying. He’s just so frustrated and helpless. His limbs are aching, there’s a pressure on his chest making every breath strained. There are no shadows in the corners of his vision, no voices bouncing off the walls, but _ he’s here _. He’s got his gloved fucking hands around his throat again, not strangling but there all the same.

“You’re dead. You’re dead. You’re dead, so stop hurting me.”

He makes the mistake of feeling at his neck, fingers brushing against cold, cold leather. Pure panic spreads through him and lingers even as he shifts his head but sees no one. No, no, no. There’s some sliver of icy logic cutting through the chaos, telling him he needs to keep his head clear. Clear his head, rid it of that fucking scourge. Next he knows he’s stumbled into the bathroom, smooth porcelain beneath his bare feet. Bright lights overhead intensifying the pure white walls, but even this harsh sting is more welcome than the black shadows. The chill in the air drowns out the one on his neck, and the spray of cold water he splashes onto his face is a blissfully numbing blessing. The face in the mirror is his own, bloodshot eyes and all. He sniffs and blinks the droplets from his lashes once. 

Once is all it takes, and there he is. There _ he _ is, standing behind him. Hair the brilliant color of seeping blood in this light, eyes like gleaming headlights against pale, ashy skin. Looking at him with hatred belied by a smile.

Noctis can smell him. He can smell the sickness.

“**Get out!**”

It’s more of a reflex, really, as his fist connects with the mirror’s reflective surface. There’s a crack; less of a shatter like he expected. Nevertheless, it’s deafening until it’s suddenly over. It takes his mind a few seconds before he catches up with what he’s just done. His closed fist is numb, the skin tight. There are tiny shards stuck in the surface, more dropping to the sink as he slowly retracts his hand. He lets it fall back to his side, every slight movement sending a stab of pain up his arm. He breathes in, then out. It’s quiet, but not for long.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

He wants to cry as soon as he hears it. Of course it’d be like this. He does start crying, but it’s silent now, drops clouding his vision and rolling down his cheeks without any recognition. The mirror, cracked, doesn’t show it, but the lingering scent is enough. Behind him.

“Aww,” the voice rumbles, and of course he _ doesn’t fucking mean it _, “look at you.”

He can’t help but look at his reflection now, lines of breakage dividing it into odd and uneven sections, some parts chipped away. His fist feels prickly, a dull ache knocking. Between the sharp lines he sees himself standing, looking a little lost. He doesn’t recognize himself like this, finds himself thinking he should look younger. The fear in his face is something he thought he left behind, too, but that wouldn’t be the only thing to have come back when he thought it was gone.

“Why?” He asks.

“Revenge? Mischief? Torment? Self-loathing? You said it yourself. _ I’m in your head _, aren’t I? Surely the answer to all your burning questions are in there somewhere, too.”

To illustrate the point, he feels a patronizing tap-tap-tap against his head. He can’t bring himself to flinch away from it.

“Leave me alone.”

As useless as he thinks it will be, it comes out rather meek and undemanding. He’s met with a snarky chuckle.

“After I’ve gone through all that trouble to get your attention in the first place? No, I think I’ll be savouring it for a while longer.”

Tears of frustration keep rolling, rolling, rolling. He closes his eyes to make them stop and rubs at his cheeks, his face contorting as he bites back a sob. There’s a hand gently nudging his shoulder, and he shrugs it off forcefully.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

This time his shoulder is grabbed as he’s turned away from the broken mirror, a cold touch cupping his cheek.

“Don’t-“

“Open your eyes, Noct.”

It sounds threatening. Noctis begrudgingly does as he’s told, meeting a painfully familiar face just inches from his own. Terrifying and real, solid features so rigid it’s like they were cast and carved into ancient stone. Engraved into his psyche and then projected into reality, thought to be gone but now a breath away. Looming over him, quiet, simpering, _ living _ anger in his expression while the thumb rubbing small circles into his cheek stays slow and gentle.

“You miserable thing,” he says so lovingly for the spite his words carry.

Noctis finds he’s tired. So tired.

“Don’t you realize?” The words seem to seep into him, sending shivers down his spine. “Without me, you’re nothing. Nothing at all.”

The last bit of rational thought has him cracking a fraying little smile at that through the tears. The pitter-patter of blood on snowy porcelain resounds.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” His voice is wavering, barely above a whisper.

Ardyn smiles ruefully at that, and he realizes maybe acting tough isn’t going to work in his favor. Maybe he lost after all, from the beginning onwards. Maybe there’s really no winning in this, not for him.

“Who am I? Oh,” the specter drawls, leaning in as if to steal the warmth he doesn’t have, “only your worst nightmare.”

Noctis can’t bring himself to laugh now. Ardyn’s frigid lips plant an equally lifeless kiss on his temple in some mockery of affection.

“Sweet dreams, my dear.”


	2. Version 2 - other author

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vers 2 - other author

****Noctis does not register the fact his friends are calling out his name as he runs. All he can hear is Ardyn’s haunting laughter, along with the feeling of cold fingers grasping at his skin. He has to get away.

Anywhere. Anywhere to be away from _ him. _

Except, Noctis realises, that there is nowhere he can hide. Not when Ardyn is inside his head.

* * *

It begins small.

Despite having slumbered in the Crystal for so long, Noctis feels surprisingly well. Everything works as it should. Yes, his body is heavier now, and he still finds it difficult to get used to his beard and larger frame, but he manages. The most perplexing thing to adjust to is the leap in time he has made.

Ten years is much longer than one thinks. Everyone has changed. Prompto is not as cheerful or excitable as he was, Gladio is even more stoic and Ignis… Well, Noctis is glad Ignis did not die. It had broken Noctis’ heart to see him lying there, skin alight with magenta flames and caked in the crustings of ash. Despite claiming so much of his young life, Noctis is grateful to the Crystal for saving him.

Everything goes as smoothly as it could for some time. The world is understandably scarred after an age of darkness. There is much preparation to be done. Buildings need to be rebuilt, food needs to be harvested and people need saving. Thus Noctis claims his seat upon the Insomnian throne and begins his new role as king. He is not alone, for he has his Shield, his Advisor and his close friend. Aranea works closely with them once more. Cor is thankfully still alive, along with Iris, Cindy and Cid. Really, Noctis cannot ask for much else, yet then the dawning of what actually occurred suddenly hits him in the face.

Ten entire years. _ Ten years _ he had been in a coma. Noctis gasps and slides down the wall in his ensuite, clutching at his face. His beard itches. Suddenly the moments of acceptance are gone and he is sliding back into denial.

He has tried to ignore it, though not _ everything _ is completely fine. Most of his body works, but his eyes seem to be playing tricks on him. If he stares too long at something, he swears he sees shadows seep into the edges of his vision. Noctis dismisses it as fatigue and the shock of adjusting to the new world, but as time passes, he begins to worry.

He is in one of the hallways of the citadel when he first hears something that isn’t there.

The building is damaged, and this hallway in particular has suffered many daemon attacks. The floors are scratched and the walls are crumbling. Noctis is on his way to ask Ignis for the status reports on Lestallum when he hears someone call out to him.

_ “Noct!” _

Turning his head, Noctis looks behind him. The corridor looms ahead. There is nobody there. He frowns but figures, ah, it must be his imagination. Hearing one’s own name meant the sign of a healthy brain, as Ignis had told him once. It wasn’t as if the voice was anyone recognisable. High-pitched—female, most likely—and far away.

No, it is not of concern. Noctis shakes his head and continues on. He finds Ignis as normal, and receives the update. Lestallum is recovering.

Ignis’ eyes, green and glistening as they always were, pierce him directly. They almost burn through his skull and Noctis tries his hardest not to twitch. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asks.

“Huh?”

His advisor shifts on the spot. “You’re looking a little pale, Noct.”

“Oh,” Noctis reaches a hand up to scratch the back of his head, “I haven’t been sleeping all that great.”

“Well, that is understandable. You have much to get used to. Just do keep on top of regular meals, that is all I’m asking,” says Ignis. His concern is touching, though a part inside Noctis recoils in fear. Why is he so suddenly jumpy? He wasn’t like this when he woke up. Anxiety crawls along his skin like a wave of insects, and Noctis rubs his arms to rid himself of the grotesque sensation.

He agrees to Ignis’ request. After concluding their next plan of action, he decides it is a good idea to retreat to his room. Lestallum endured severe food shortages in the past two years, and is thus currently trying to make way for farmland. As the daemons have been purged, there had been no major problems since. It just takes Noctis’ approval to go forward with major decisions. He didn’t even really take in what Ignis had told him. 

The king’s chambers are mostly intact. Dust still coats the corners of the ceiling that are too high to reach, and the bed creaks from years of abandonment, but it is familiar. Noctis slips off his shoes and heads straight for it.

_ “Noctis!” _

He shoots up. Another voice calling his name, except this time, it sounds different. This one is deep and masculine. Searching the room, Noctis frowns because he_ knows _ he is alone.

Is he really this disturbed?

* * *

As the days drift by, Noctis forgets about the mysterious voices. He blames them on his imagination due to lack of sleep and moves on with his life. There is much to be done, after all.

He sits at the end of a table, accompanied by his retainers and Cor. The latter has a stack of reports, papers mouldy from having been sitting in the damp too long, and shuffles them. Noctis thinks it is something to do with a settlement to the south of Insomnia, but he is distracted by a hissing whisper in his ears.

It sounds like nothing, at first. He rubs the side of his head to rid himself of possible tinnitus and tries to focus on what Cor is saying. He can see the man’s lips moving, and the low rumble of his words, yet they go unnoticed as the whispering grows louder.

_ “...is. Noctis. Noctis.” _

They are chanting his name. Noctis cannot decipher if it’s one or many voices, but it is at least the same low voice he heard several days ago in his room. A voice so familiar yet it evades him. Was it Gladio? Did Gladio call for him?

His Shield gives him a weird look. “Something wrong?”

“Did you say something?” Noctis says.

The group glance at each other. “No,” says Ignis. “Only Cor has been speaking.”

He feels embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Cor clears his throat and continues. Pinching the bridge of his nose when no one is looking, Noctis decides that he really must get more sleep or take a moment to himself. He is definitely out of it. He will not state that he is hearing things, but that his brain is still struggling to adjust to this new world. That wasn’t even a lie. He stills finds thing so bizarre. When he closed his eyes in Gralea, it had only seemed for a second. A second, and then everything he knew was either changed or gone entirely. His friends, his home—altered forever.

He excuses himself when he begins to feel dizzy. Thinking about it is too much for him, and he cannot take in Cor’s words no matter how hard he tries. Cor does ask how he is, but Noctis says that his body still acts up from time to time. Nobody questions it. After all, they weren’t to know how the Crystal would affect someone after a decade long coma.

His chambers do not seem as comforting as they had the other night. It is dark—evening has already set—and Noctis has had enough of the darkness. He lights a candle because the electricity is on the verge of being unreliable. The glow from the flame comforts him as he turns to get a book.

Honestly, he had never been one for reading. Everything on the shelves are boring, but the TVs don’t work anymore. They will only be fixed when they can afford to spare the time, so Noctis has to settle on entertaining himself in other ways. At least the one in his hands is a work of fiction. However, as he allows his eyes to adjust to the low lighting and rest on the words, something black skitters around underneath his eyes. An insect, he thinks, and he swipes his hand across to bat it away.

There is nothing there. Noctis rubs his eyes just in case and goes back to the book. The same insect returns to scuttle with extra vigor. A beetle, swiftly joined by two or three more. Noctis throws the book down to scratch at his face.

“Fucking hell,” he swears under his breath. How tired _ is _ he? First imaginary whispers, and now phantom bugs were harassing him? It had to be the lack of sleep. It wasn’t anything that he hadn’t experienced before. Noctis had the pleasure of hallucinating during a bad fever in his childhood. He’d seen walls close in on him or people’s eyes growing much larger than they were, but he always knew it was only his mind.

Just his mind.

So is it just his mind when he looks up to see the outline of a person at the end of the room?

This time, Noctis screams. The book gets knocked off the bed as he falls out, scrambling to get to his feet before the person—daemon—could get to him. Except by the time he’s standing, it is gone.

He knows it can’t be a daemon. They were vanquished with the Scourge. Yet, that was definitely a silhouette he saw. It was not transparent like a ghost might appear (not that Noctis is a big believer in ghosts but he wants to blame _ something) _ except fully solid. It hadn’t moved until he fell. Noctis races over to where the shadow had been standing, several feet away from the door, and runs his hands over the wall. His fingertips are greeted with cold wallpaper. Absolutely nothing. He growls in frustration before returning to the bed. He does not pick the book back up.

During the night, Noctis is plagued by more whispering—whispers with a deep tone uttering words of seduction into his head.

* * *

Weeks pass, and the symptoms worsen. Noctis clutches his head as he has been forced to endure ceaseless nattering in his ears for the past two hours.

The voices are not from real people. He has accepted the fact he is hallucinating. They come from his mind, the sound without echo or distortion as if he is wearing earphones. He doesn’t know _ why _ he is hallucinating, albeit. He’d been asleep the past ten years! What had happened in that span of time that caused his brain to malfunction like this? Sometimes the voices are discernable, and Noctis makes out his own name being called or somewhat aggressive remarks thrown in his direction. Right now, it is a wave of people talking at once. His brain throbs with a headache.

When Prompto enters, he bolts up. He needs a distraction. It is nice to see the warm smile of a friend rather than the constant shrieking he has had to withstand.

“Hey, Noct. Everything alright?” says Prompto.

“‘Course,” Noctis lies, “and you?”

The blond has a report file. “Overworked to hell, but we’re finally getting somewhere with Lestallum. We’ve got electricity to the whole of—”

_ “You seem stressed, Your Majesty.” _

Noctis lashes his head to the side. Of course, there is no one there to greet him, though that voice had sounded so real. Dread cuts through his heart at the huskiness of it. Deep down, he _ knows _that voice. It is not his imagination playing tricks on him, either. That voice is someone who has made an impact on him. Shortly after worming its way into his thoughts, it disappears again. Noctis’ mind becomes quiet at long last.

“Dude?”

He turns back to Prompto, who appears startled. “What?”

“I said we’ve got electricity to the whole of the town now. The broken generators have been fixed. There’s still some broken towers that need attention, but we need your approval before we send anyone out.”

“Right.” Noctis’ answer is sharp. He is suddenly taken back to the time they had to fix the towers way back then. When things seemed so simple. Prompto watches in concern as Noctis’ eyes dart around the room. “Uh, yeah. Everything’s fine. Go ahead.”

“Ignis said you were a bit spaced out. You sure you’re getting enough sleep?” Prompto asks. His eyebrows knit together, and Noctis is sure he probably wants to put a hand on his shoulder though the sudden formality of the situation prevents him. Actually working as a monarch was not as glamorous as his ancestors had made it out to be, Noctis thinks in resentment.

“Probably not. There’s so much happening and, uh… I think I’m still a little dazed.”

Prompto smiles at his response. “Hey, it’s cool, Noct. We’ve had all the time in the world to get used to this mess, but you’ve only been up and walking a few months. Just give us a heads up if you need a break.”

The suggestion sounds tempting. Noctis places his own hand on Prompto’s instead—if only to feel more grounded. “Thanks, Prom. I’ll be fine, really.”

He is not fine. 

Not when, that night, he finally figures out who that voice belongs to.

Noctis is regrettably outside of his room. He cannot sleep due to the voices keeping him awake, so had thus decided to take a walk. It hadn’t been a good idea.

The shadows of the corridors spike his paranoia to dangerous levels. He sees them shifting, inky black shapes sliding across the floor and up his legs. He tries to ignore them as he heads for the nearest balcony. Some cool night air should help. When he reaches for the handle, he gasps when he feels what was shaped like a _ hand _ on his back.

“What the fuck,” he snarls as he spins around. No hand. Just his mind again. Noctis allows his head to lean against the glass pane. “I’m getting sick of this.”

“What, you’re already feeling tired?”

He grits his teeth.

“Get out of my fucking head.”

A haunting laugh chills his bones. “My, the Crystal seems to have affected you in more ways than one. You’re positively _ unpleasant, _ Noct.”

Noct. No other said his name with such honey-laced words as _ he _ did. Noctis slaps a hand to his mouth as anxiety pools in his gut. He does not want to admit who he is hearing, but there is no mistaking that tone. As the laughter continues, injected to the brim with malice, Noctis squeezes his eyes shut.

“Ardyn?”

He feels ridiculous saying it, though he hopes to gain an actual response for once.

“You’ve finally guessed it! It was becoming awfully boring, you fumbling around to regain your senses like that. Amusing at first, but there is only so long you can draw out entertainment.”

No,_ no, _ this cannot be happening. Ardyn is dead. He’d died with the Scourge along with his daemons. If he had not, then the dawn would not have returned. Noctis knows this for a fact. That is how the prophecy goes!

“Ah, but _ does _ it?”

“Go ahead and explain, Ardyn-in-my-head,” Noctis says sarcastically.

He flinches when the cold hand from earlier returns. It brushes a finger across his cheek and he rips his head away.

“If you fail to recall, my dear, your friend stepped in the way before your fate had the chance to seal itself. You never saw me die. You never _ killed me.” _

The words cause his knees to buckle.

Noctis does not want to agree, except the voice in his mind isn’t wrong. He never _ did _ see Ardyn die. Not properly, at least. Ignis’ interference (which he was eternally grateful for) saved both of their lives, but things had not gone as they were written millenia prior. The dawn had returned sure enough, meaning Ardyn was dead, and yet… 

He chews on his fingernails. Ardyn snickers at him, his chuckles becoming more annoying than eerie. Noctis gives up and goes back to his room, and he thanks the gods that the voices ebb away into quietness as he gets into bed. It is just unfortunate that it does not stay that way when the morning comes.

Once Noctis recognises Ardyn’s voice, he never leaves him alone. Every moment of the day, snide remarks are fed directly to him. Ardyn will speak over others, speak over Noctis and speak over his own thoughts.

It is much like their first encounters. Imaginary Ardyn talks as he did as his real self—on the border of uncomfortably charismatic and downright creepy. Noctis can almost _ see _ the swagger in his walk. He does his best to ignore it, although it begins to become unbearable.

“Having responsibilities is tiring, isn’t it?” Ardyn mocks one afternoon.

Noctis scowls and sinks further into his seat. He is alone, filling out reports in a dim office. He has specifically asked to be left in peace. He isn’t sure why, but he blames it on the paranoia bubbling in the back of his brain. Even without Ardyn pestering him, he would have that to deal with that. It was only minor things, such as checking behind his back more often than he needed to, or making sure his doors were locked more times than necessary. Symptoms that mimicked a classic case of OCD. So that his retinue would not notice, Noctis made sure he kept his rituals to himself.

As he contemplates it, Ardyn sighs gruffly and Noctis swears he feels a lock of his hair move.

“You would think the King would have far better concentration.”

The voice continues as Noctis writes. He is digging the pen so hard into the paper the ink bleeds out. Of course, Imaginary Ardyn notices and lets out a guffaw.

“Or, at least, a steady hand.”

“Oh my gods, shut the fuck up,” Noctis growls as he presses his fingers into his scalp. 

As if that would actually help. The bugs return to scuttle across the report files, and Noctis jumps. The pen flies onto the floor. He gets up as insects scatter in all directions, disappearing as they made their way down the legs of the desk. Noctis reaches to turn the light on, but that only serves to highlight their disgusting features. Vile things.

No, they’re not real, he tells himself. He will not become _ schizophrenic _ when he has duties to fulfill. He cannot afford to.

“Now, there’s a more fitting attitude!” Ardyn says. “After all, it’s the least you can do considering you kept everyone waiting while you slumbered away in the Crysta—”

“Shut _ up!” _ Noctis cries as he slams his hands down. His fist seemingly squashes a bug, though it just skitters out from his fingers.

_ “It’s your fault, it’s your fault, it’s your fault.” _

The choir of voices overlap Ardyn, and Noctis doesn’t know which he prefers. Ardyn is infuriating, but at least there is only him to worry about. The reports are left abandoned as he tries to escape. An empty room only makes his hallucinations worse.

They follow him from room to room. Noctis, trying to brush the delusions away, confirms that they _ aren’t _ real because they are only repeating his own thoughts.

He blames himself. He blames himself for sleeping when his people were fighting for their lives in the never-ending darkness. He could have helped them. He was supposed to be their ruler.

“It’s fine, I’m here now,” Noctis reassures himself.

Ardyn, of course, ruins it. “I’m afraid ‘now’ isn’t good enough, Majesty.”

* * *

3am is said to be the hour of paranormal activity.

Noctis isn’t sure if its his paranoia or some random new interest that is making him think so much about ghosts, yet he cannot get the concept out of his mind.

He isn’t sure why three o’clock is so cursed. Many blamed midnight for being the witching hour, but Noctis has to disagree on that. Twelve is nowhere near as terrifying as three. The grandfather clock in the room is drawing dangerously close, and Noctis glues his eyes on its face. The golden pendulum swings along with his heartbeat.

The voices—Ardyn’s included—had been calm earlier in the evening. Noctis took the precious moment of rest to take a nap and to wrap up any leftover formalities with his aides. The Crownsguard had only just gotten around to recruiting new members since a drop in their numbers last year, and Noctis had to oversee it. He’d had enough of people dying, but said yes to every application. They needed all the help they could get. Lucis was split into settlements battling for survival, and attempting to stitch them back together was proving difficult.

Lucis is hardly a country anymore, and Noctis wonders if it will ever be the same.

He flinches as the clock strikes three. He feels his hairs stand up on end as his brain goes into overdrive. Noctis makes himself roll over so that he does not have to look at the clock any longer, but freezes when a dark shadow eyes him from across the room.

It could be comparable to the shapes he has already hallucinated at the end of hallways or behind doors, although this one is different.

It is solid. It is animated. It toys with a knife, spinning it around its wrist. Its foot is tapping against the floor and Noctis has to wonder how he hadn’t noticed it before. When the figure turns, golden eyes burning holes into his very soul, Noctis feels his heart stop.

Ardyn flashes him a charming smile as the moonlight hits his face. He looks _ exactly _ like he had done when he was alive. Every subtle feature of his face is duplicated perfectly into reality. So perfectly, in fact, that Noctis forgets this is most likely a vision.

“Can’t sleep?”

“You—” Noctis gasps out, voice cracking embarrassingly. Ardyn flashes the dagger away and turns to face him fully.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it? Since we’ve seen each other in the _ flesh.” _

The last word is drawn out teasingly. Noctis fists the duvet and scrambles back as Ardyn takes several steps forward.

“No, stay away from me. You’re dead. You’re fucking dead—”

“Am I, though?” Ardyn rolls his eyes and thankfully stops, mere feet away from the bed. “Like I said, you never saw me die. Who’s to say all this isn't inside your pretty little head?”

It cannot be real. It can’t. There is no way that Ardyn is with him, right here, right now, in his own bedroom. Noctis forces himself to take a breath so that he does not pass out before his worst enemy, and takes a moment to truly study him.

Ardyn is wearing his usual garb as the Chancellor of Niflheim. The orange scarf, the long coat, the gloves, the spurred boots—all of it is intact. However, when Noctis catches a hint of transparency in Ardyn’s body thanks to the gap in his curtains, he realises. He isn’t real. He is a hallucination. 

Yet, that thought does not bring him relief. Noctis finds himself frozen as Ardyn saunters to stand before him. He is tall, very tall. Perhaps taller than he really was. The real Ardyn stood a few inches under Gladio, but this one seemed to tower even above _ him. _ A smile curls one side of his mouth up, most likely at the fear Noctis is sure is showing on his face. Even if this Ardyn isn’t real, Noctis does not want to reveal weaknesses. He doesn’t want him to know that he’s scared.

“Afraid?” Ardyn’s smirk grows wider, and his face leans in closer. “No, I think you’re _ terrified.” _

“Of what? A hallucination?” Noctis bites back. Ardyn laughs as he regains the ability to speak.

“There’s no need to be resilient with me, Noct. I know your true feelings.”

If his mind is conjuring things up, then Noctis supposes that is true. Of course his own head knows what he is thinking. He swallows the lump in his throat, but still can’t find it in himself to move. He cannot stop himself from shouting, however, when the dagger returns and Ardyn plunges it into his chest.

Noctis swears he can feel it. The imaginary stab of pain, the agony coursing through him as the edge of the blade twists in Ardyn’s hand. His scream is cut off into a cough when Noctis realises that he feels nothing.

That only further proves he is out of his mind.

Ardyn appears displeased. He frowns as the dagger does not draw blood, and retracts his arm. It is all so confusing. The part of his brain that is conjuring such horrible images does not seem to realise it is doing so, while the other half acknowledges that what he sees in front of him does not truly exist. His head hurts due to the irritating paradox.

Then, Ardyn smiles. “Ah, well. We shall reserve playtime for another night.”

He fades when Noctis blinks. Gritting his teeth and pounding his fist on the mattress in frustration, Noctis throws himself out of bed. While Ardyn is gone, shapeless shadows continue to haunt him as the night drags on.

He doesn’t sleep.

* * *

“What are we doing today, Your Majesty?” 

Ardyn’s throaty voice serves to get on every single one of Noctis’ nerves as he makes his way to the citadel’s exit.

“Get lost,” Noctis grunts.

The Chancellor appears directly in front of him and Noctis stumbles. He narrows his eyes, watching Ardyn as he surveys the area. His face shows that he is clearly uninterested. Well, the citadel’s gardens had gone a little overgrown, so it doesn’t surprise Noctis that Imaginary Ardyn feels this way. Gods, is he giving him a personality now?! Ardyn says something else, but Noctis is already walking away.

The worst thing is that Ardyn’s voice never vanishes the further away he gets from his apparition. Right now, he is standing several metres apart as Noctis tries to leave him behind, though he can hear him as clearly as if he were right next to him. It’s so horrifically real that Noctis spends a disturbing amount of time wondering if he really _ has _ gone insane or the real Ardyn has found a new way to fuck with him. Neither would surprise him at this rate—it’s just the latter would be a far more serious situation to deal with.

“Come now, it wouldn’t do well to ignore a friend, would it?” says Ardyn.

Noctis sighs, and thinks about biting back a retort but decides that’s not going to get him anywhere. It would be essentially talking to himself out loud.

“After all, think of all the fun times we’ve shared together,” Ardyn drawls on, and Noctis can now see him following gradually at his own pace. “I know I miss them. How about _ you?” _

“No,” is the only answer he gives.

He says it quietly, under his breath, but his own head knows what he is saying. There is more obnoxious laughter and Noctis now sees that Ardyn has fallen into step with him. His coat trails behind him like dark wisps.

“Really?” His tone becomes smug. “Not even the instance when I reunited you with your beloved fiancée?”

The king scratches at his head. “Gods, just leave me _ alone.” _

He thankfully arrives at the construction site before Ardyn can taunt him any further. Ignis, Gladio and Prompto are already present, alongside Cor. Noctis forces himself to smile.

“Ah, you’re here,” says Ignis.

It is a little past noon. Noctis had said he’d be here in the morning, but after getting hardly any sleep thanks to his own infected head, he overslept.

“What can I say? Insomnia is the city that never sleeps,” Noctis jests.

Prompto laughs, and Noctis feels his heart warm. It is pleasant to hear a friendly tone for once. He tries to forget that Ardyn is lingering in the background, surveying him with a sneer.

“Right,” Prompto begins, “now that you’ve arrived, I need a hand with getting stuff cleared up. Did you bring your tools?”

“My what?”

Ardyn snickers. “How forgetful of you.”

“Ya know, for the construction work. We’ve got guys coming in to do the big jobs but you said there were work tools at the citadel…?”

“Did I say that?” Noctis asks, feeling awkward.

The blond nods slowly. “Yeah. We planned this last week, remember?”

Had they? The memory completely evades him. Noctis’ gaze drifts to the floor as he struggles to recall, yet Ardyn intervenes to lend a helping hand before he can say anything.

“You very specifically agreed to work on building a settlement closer to the citadel,” he says. “Why, you’ve signed at least three documents on the subject, Noct. You seem to be losing your touch.”

His smirk makes his blood boil. Noctis ends up spending a little too long glaring at him, because Prompto notices.

“...You okay?”

Noctis jumps and quickly nods. “Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. No sleep again—but jeez, my bad, Prom. I completely forgot. Do you have any here that will make do?”

There are some tools he can use, but they have to be rationed. Gladio takes care of shifting anything heavy out of the way, while Cor focuses on reinforcing the doors. The daemons might have been purged, though the amount of wildlife that had found refuge in the city was high. Dangers are ever present. Noctis watches them work for a while before he finds it in himself to join Prompto and Ignis in taking care of the safety hazards in the surrounding buildings.

Most of the skyscrapers had been smashed to hell, but several are still intact enough to house the refugees seeking a place closer to their King. 

He goes to clear the broken glass from the windows before regrettably cutting his hand.

His blood is disturbingly crimson. Noctis pauses, eyes drawn to the red seeping out of his palm. The gash is quite large after carelessly handling a shard with no gloves. He isn’t sure why he was so eager to grab it, but now all he can focus on is how he bleeds freely onto the floor. Ardyn isn’t present now, though when Noctis looks up, he is unable to stop himself from visibly recoiling.

The blood has spread onto Prompto’s face. The blond has stood up to stare at him, and then Noctis is truly horrified by the amount of gore on his features. Blood pouring from his eyesockets, from his nose, from his lips. His pupils have somehow rolled back into his head, and there are thick black veins creeping up his jaw. The sight is hideous. It is so sickly that Noctis feels himself retch, and his hand shoot up to his throat to stop himself from actually vomiting on the spot. He vaguely hears Prompto’s shout of concern and then his hand on his shoulder.

“...oct! Noct, what’s wrong?”

When his gag reflex settles, Noctis looks back up. The blood is gone. Prompto’s skin, while still a little dry and cracked from the years without sunlight, is healed.

Just another hallucination. Ardyn chuckles as Noctis tries to straighten himself.

“I'm okay. Maybe it’s a stomach bug,” is his poor reasoning.

Prompto’s eyebrows furrow, a sign he is not convinced. “But you looked… I dunno, really freaked out there for a moment. You sure you’re good?”

Noctis’ eyes dart away at the sound of laughter. He regrets it when he sees a pile of maggots at his feet. They had definitely not been there before. He retches again.

“Hey, Iggy?” Prompto calls out as he steadies the king. “I think Noct should go back.”

“What happened?” says Ignis.

“He’s sick.”

Ignis frowns. “You are still feeling ill?”

“I dunno…” Noctis groans. He shuts his eyes so he can avoid looking at the repulsive larvae his mind conjured. “I think I’m just… not used to being active.”

Is that convincing? He feigns his stomach hurting to appear more physically ill. He does not want to give away his waning mental health. A viral illness is easy enough to deal with—hallucinations were not. Back before everything went to shit, there were people trained to handle that. Now, Noctis cannot be so sure. So many people had died, and the doctors that were actually valued in a survival situation were the ones that dealt with physical diseases. Mental health couldn’t afford to be a priority when one’s life was on the line.

While Ignis doesn’t look entirely convinced, he turns to Prompto. “Then it’s best if you take him back to the citadel. Make sure he’s protected.”

“I’ll be fine,” Noctis protests but when he opens his eyes, he retches for the third time at the sight of insects and dead animals. Gods, things are getting worse. Much, _ much _ worse.

“It’s okay, Noct,” Prompto reassures him as he guides him out of the building, “we’ll be alright handling this ourselves. Just have a nap or, I don’t know, file some reports? Whatever you’re up to doing. Don’t push yourself.”

Noctis only agrees when he sees Ardyn sauntering behind them. He whistles annoyingly. Glowering, Noctis keeps his head down while Prompto chats away, and does everything in his power to focus on his friend’s voice rather than the daemon on his heels.

* * *

“Fuck,” Noctis swears as he nicks his neck with the razor blade.

Several days later, an hour before an important meeting, Noctis suffers from an identity crisis. He realises now really isn’t the time, but he cannot stand looking at himself a moment longer.

He feels alien in this older body. The hair, the beard—it's all wrong. He isn’t sure if it’s his mental illness causing him to dissociate or if he would feel like this anyway. Nevertheless, he found himself in front of the bathroom mirror desperately trying to shave his facial hair off.

At the age of 30, he looks rather babyish without his beard to support his hardened features. Even with it gone, Noctis still doesn’t recognise his own face. His jaw is sharper. His forehead is more sloped back, his shoulders more square. All it does is serve as a reminder to just _ how _ long he actually slept. He wipes off the several razor cuts and then stares at his hair.

It’s not styled like he used to. Noctis knows he would look ridiculous with the same ‘do as he had in his 20s, but he reaches for the scissors anyway. There is no gel left (not that they’d be within their expiration date) so he makes do with snipping off the ends. He frames the sides so that they are not as long, and then chops off at least an inch at the back.

It looks awkward. Noctis cringes at how badly he fucked his hair up, yet at least he looks a bit more like he used to. Hopefully no one will notice how uneven he’s left it.

As he steps out, Ardyn is waiting for him on the bed.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” he greets before smiling cruelly. _ “Love _ what you’ve done with your hair.”

Noctis scoffs and ignores him. He hasn’t said a word to him since his last outing, and he wasn’t going to resume. Hallucinating was one thing, but actually responding to them was another. Ardyn pouts childishly and swings one leg over the other.

“Don’t be like that. It’s been _ days _ since you’ve last spoken to me.”

Sitting down in the chair at the far end of the room, Noctis gets a book in order to wait for the meeting. It is to discuss the reconstruction of the nearby buildings—the same ones as they had began to renovate days earlier. It brings back memories of seeing maggots and corpses and blood, but Noctis tries to forget the gruesome visions as the words on his book blur together. He can hardly concentrate.

He yanks the book away as Ardyn gets up from the bed and places his fingers on the page. “Oh, such boring drivel. Come, keep me company.”

Ardyn’s arm suddenly lashes to the side, and Noctis is so surprised he drops the book. He gasps as Ardyn straddles his lap, hands on his shoulders and grinning from ear to ear.

“Isn’t that better?”

Noctis blushes at the crude positioning, but finds that he cannot move yet again. He is pinned to the chair, grasp tightening on the armrests and eyes locked with Ardyn’s. He looks silly, perched on his lap like that when he is so much bigger. He seems comfortable, regardless, and strokes the side of Noctis’ face.

“Get off me,” he whispers.

Ardyn sneers. “Finally speaking, are we? It is about time, Noct. I was beginning to become rather fed up.”

“Just… leave me alone.” Noctis is only too aware of how pathetic he sounds. “You’re dead, so none of this matters. Let me rest.”

“Was ten years not enough for you?”

A tear slides down Noctis’ cheek as Ardyn runs his fingers down the side of his face. His skin tingles as if they are actually there. It is cold, and the subzero temperature runs down to the rest of his body as if Ardyn is chilling his blood.

“There is no need to be upset,” Ardyn taunts, and brings his face in closer. It tilts to a slight angle, and at first Noctis is confused before the Accursed’s eyes drift shut. His lips are only an inch away before it is too late.

The cold increases tenfold as Ardyn presses his mouth against his. Noctis’ throat closes up, and even when he seals his lips in a tight line he can still feel the invading force of the kiss. A tongue traces along his bottom lip and even then he cannot turn his face away. This time, Ardyn is perfectly solid. Noctis can only see him engulfing his entire line of vision—domineering the space they shared. It is suffocating.

When Ardyn releases, Noctis only then realises that he has been holding his breath. He sucks in air between his teeth, and Ardyn chortles.

“Things will become so much easier if you submit.”

Submit to what? Ardyn? His own madness? Noctis finds he doesn’t want to know, and gets up. Ardyn fades into nothing as their bodies merge for a split second. The king storms to the door and slams it shut as he makes his way to the meeting. He hopes with all his heart that that will distract him.

Unfortunately, Ardyn reappears the moment he sits at the head of the table. Nobody says anything about his lack of beard and choppy hair, so Noctis glares in his direction before Cor stars speaking.

“So we’ve got most of the bottom floor cleared out,” he begins. “I’d say we can move in a good 20 people if we get enough supplies.”

“How’s Lestallum holding up on that end?” Gladio intervenes. Noctis watches as Ardyn paces around the table, fingers brushing close to his friends. Not enough to touch, however. It is difficult not to look at him as he flashes Noctis a smirk whenever their eyes meet. 

“Decent, but they won’t have much to spare,” Ignis adds. “We may have to ask other settlements.”

Ardyn drifts around to where Ignis is sitting to the king’s left. Noctis tries not to move his head, though keeps an eye as Ardyn hovers behind his advisor menacingly. He then grins maniacally as he stabs his dagger straight through Ignis’ chest.

Noctis jumps. The dagger, just as fake as the rest of Ardyn, pokes out harmlessly. He fails to notice Ignis turning his gaze to him as he watches blood pour out like a red river. There is far too much of it to be realistic, but the sight—and even the smell—of it is vile.

“Your Majesty,” Cor says, snapping Noctis out of his stupor. 

“Yes?”

Retracting the dagger, Ardyn moves on to his next target. He caresses Gladio’s face for a moment before dragging the knife under his neck.

“We were referring to which settlement to contact. Your opinion?”

Ardyn tsks condescendingly. Noctis has to stop himself from snarling at him as he fails to answer Cor’s question. “Uh… what were the options?”

“Are you even listening?” Gladio says, an edge to his tone. Obviously he does not know how his neck is slit to Noctis, ignorant of the gore spurting forth. “We just said.”

“Poor little Noct. It is _ so _ hard being king. I do have to wonder why the gods chose you,” Ardyn jeers. 

“Right.” Noctis clenches his jaw. “I didn’t hear.”

This time, he catches what he missed and awkwardly replies to contact both of the suggested settlements. They are far away, nowhere near Insomnia or Lestallum, but are the closest they have as options. The group don’t question his decision despite the fact Noctis can see the confusion on their faces. Even_ he _ is confused. Nothing makes sense anymore, and all he can focus on his Ardyn prancing over to Prompto and sticking the same knife through his eyes—twice. He only stops when he has mauled every person at the table.

The meeting drags on. As time passes, Noctis finds himself more worked up as Ardyn does everything to push his buttons. He talks over people so that Noctis misses practically everything said, he continues to stab them over and over, and worst of all, he whispers cruel words into his ears.

He rests his chin on his shoulder, arms wrapped around him. Noctis is trembling in his seat.

“You should have died instead of your father,” Ardyn says softly. “He could have led Lucis to far greater heights than you ever will. How does that feel, knowing he is dead and turning in his grave as you ruin his country?”

“Shut up,” Noctis says under his breath. Nobody notices.

Ardyn cackles, loud and booming in his eardrums.

“In fact, how does it feel knowing so many people are dead because of you? The countless members of the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive, the innocents of your civilisation, _ darling _ Lunafreya—rotting in the ground because you were brought into existence. It’s pitiful. Look at your friend over there! The only reason his eyes weren’t seared out of his head was because of the Crystal’s power, not yours. Even _ you _ cannot save one person, not truly.”

Prompto is the only one who realises how violently Noctis is shaking. His hands have turned into fists and his teeth are gritted so hard the sound of his molars grinding is almost audible. He reaches up a hand to shove Ardyn away, but he only reappears at his side. Prompto, leaning over, attempts to speak to his friend.

“Uh, Noct—”

_ “Noct.” _ Ardyn’s voice drowns out Prompto’s. “Noct, Noct, Noct. How _ ever _ will you fare when your friends inevitably die, and you can’t do _ anything _about it?”

It’s all too much. Ardyn constantly teasing him, everyone asking if he was ok—Noctis cannot take it any _longer._ He stands up so suddenly that his chair falls back, causing everyone to jump at the sound. He goes to punch Ardyn in the face before he leaps back.

“SHUT _ UP!” _

“Majesty!” Ignis cries out, getting to his feet. 

Noctis snarls, focused entirely on Ardyn. “Get _ away _ from me!”

The sight of blood only increases as Ardyn takes his leave. Noctis realises how far he has actually gone when it’s too late, and everyone is staring at him. There was no explaining this. He has made a grave error.

“Oh, dear, _ now _what have you done?” the Accursed says in feigned concern.

Turning on his heel, Noctis runs.

He can hear his friends calling out for him. He doesn’t stop until he comes to a dead end, Ardyn’s voice never leaving him. He crumples to his knees as it becomes overwhelming.

Gladio is already kneeling besides him, and while Noctis knows he is not the enemy, he pushes him away.

“Gods, shut the fuck up!” he yells at the voices in his head.

“Noctis, nobody _ said _ anything.” he hears Gladio say.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The tears fall freely now. The laughter and mocking sneers ebb away as he cries in frustration, his friends huddled around him in the attempt to console him. He feels Prompto frantically asking if he was alright, Ignis shouting at Gladio to step away, and Cor shooing off any onlookers that wanted to know why the king had had such a sudden outburst.

He then spends the next half an hour like that, sobbing against his arms pathetically.

* * *

“Hallucinations?” 

Gladio drags a hand through his hair, pacing the foyer. “Damn, Noct, why didn’t you _ tell _ us?!”

They eventually sat him down after his psychotic episode, and Noctis didn’t fight back. He knows he’d messed up. He is silent as they all sit opposite him, Prompto by his side, Gladio prowling like a caged animal, and Ignis and Cor on their feet, arms crossed. Their faces of concern are unbearable to him.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Noctis mutters. “You guys have so much shit going on, and I’m supposed to be the king.”

“Why does that matter?” Gladio snaps back. “Just because you’re the king doesn’t mean you have to suffer like that! I mean, _ hallucinations. _ That’s a massive deal.”

“When did this begin?” Cor asks.

Noctis shrugs, picking at a loose thread on his trousers. “A few weeks after I woke up.”

“Did the Crystal have anything to do with this?” Ignis comments.

“I don’t know.”

“What are your symptoms?”

The question he didn’t want to hear. Noctis reluctantly answers, “I just...have a hard time telling what’s real and what’s not.”

Gladio frowns. “What, like, psychosis?”

“I guess.”

“Are you hearing voices?” says Cor.

“Yeah.”

The group glance at each other. Noctis doesn’t want to see their expressions, so he turns to the side. Ardyn has returned, perched on an empty chair several feet away. His fingers clasp together as he watches in glee.

“And…” Ignis continues, swallowing thickly, “what are you seeing? You tried to hit something earlier.”

Ardyn tilts his head, smiling innocently. Noctis flickers his gaze back to Ignis.

“Shadows, sometimes. Bugs. Mostly it’s Ardyn.”

He tries to say it as nonchalantly as possible, though it only causes everyone to freeze.

“Ardyn?” Prompto squeaks. “But… we killed him.”

Still sitting on the chair, Ardyn snorts and rolls his eyes.

“I know,” says Noctis, “but that’s what I’m seeing. All the time. It started off as just voices at first, but… it keeps getting worse. I know I should have said something. I didn’t know how to bring it up. It’s like how Gladio said. Hallucinations are a big deal, right?”

“That’s exactly why you need to tell us!” the Shield retorts.

“Oh, I have to disagree,” Ardyn interjects. Noctis looks over to see him studying his nails. “If you told them, we wouldn’t have had _ nearly _ as much fun.”

He must have stared at him too long, because everyone turns their heads in that particular direction.

“Wait, are you seeing him right now?” Gladio asks.

Noctis nods wordlessly. He probably looks weak and scared, because he is given looks of sympathy. He hates it all.

“We will need to have a professional speak to you about this.” Ignis sits down, clearly tired. “I am unsure if there will be suitable drugs to take, though it would be wise to have expert advice.”

“We can’t afford to have a doctor here when I don’t need one as much as others.”

“This _ is _ serious, dude!” Prompto says after not not speaking for a while. “You deserve it as much as anyone else! We can’t just let you suffer!”

Ardyn smiles at the word. Noctis finally turns his head away. He can’t stand looking at the monster a second longer than he has to. Why give him the satisfaction, after all? However, his friends aren’t much better. Cor and Gladio have twisted their faces up in anger and worry, and Ignis had his lips pursed as he always did when stressed. Prompto is twitching erratically. Noctis shifts aside to get some space to himself.

“Look, whatever you’re seeing, we can fix this. All you have to do is tell us when you’re feeling bad.” 

He gazes at Gladio. “But what about all the work we have to do? I can’t abandon it.”

“You won’t have to,” says Cor. “That’s why we’re here. We exist to support you, Your Majesty. We can fill out your role as you recover. You are no less of a king for resting.”

Ardyn is still shooting him sneers from where he sits, but Noctis closes his eyes and nods.

“Alright.”


End file.
